Bipolar WINTER. Samuel David Steiner

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СКАЧАТЬ Aldo and his hastily packed suitcase to their car. He didn’t even have the chance to change out of his snow pants, let alone tell his parents he was leaving, and just like that, their surprise of a graduation trip to the Zillertal Alps ended as abruptly as it had begun. Also tried repeatedly to text his parents during the four-hour drive to Valerio Catullo Airport in Verona, but his cell reception was terrible anywhere outside Rome. For the duration of the drive, he sat crammed in the backseat of the guards’ rented Fiat, feeling the most uncomfortable he’d been in his entire life.

       Where are they taking me?

      His anxiety increased as the guards maintained their stubborn silence, despite his demanding an explanation in both English and Italian. The hour flight from Verona to Rome was no better than the car ride. Realizing their destination was the Apostolic Palace brought only a brief moment of solace as Aldo’s anxiety intensified for a whole different reason.

       Did I do something wrong?

      He chewed on the end of his index finger and gazed once again at the elegant interior of the antechamber. No one was escorted by the Pontifical Swiss Guard to the pope’s private quarters without good reason. But only one thing came to Aldo’s mind.

      He continued to pace, the movement the only thing keeping his knees from trembling. Please, Lord, don’t let me throw up. Aldo’s stomach churned again violently.

      Aldo barely managed to receive his Ph.D. in theological history from the Pontifical Gregorian University the previous week; his thesis and last two years of research were nearly refused by the graduation board. He couldn’t fault them though. He’d known from the beginning that his topic was controversial, to say the least, but something in him refused to give up on it. And that stubbornness had nearly cost him his degree. Aldo sighed. His parents had surprised him with the ski trip to Speikboden without knowing how precariously close their son had come to not graduating.

      He pulled out his iPhone to try texting them again when the door to the pope’s chambers opened. Taking a deep breath, Aldo turned to see an older gentleman in the formal red robes of a cardinal, and his heart dropped into the roiling acid of his stomach.

      “Buonasera, Signore,” Cardinal Sebastiano Bastianelli, incumbent of the Holy See said with a slight bow. The cardinal was highly admired in the Catholic world and was something of a hero to Aldo. But under these circumstances, Aldo remained cautious.

      Aldo swallowed hard, trying to collect himself. Bowing, he said, “Uh, Your Eminence…um, am I…”

      “Not to worry,” the cardinal chuckled, “I’m not here to pass judgment.” He then gestured Aldo into the pope’s chambers. Aldo forced his legs to move, and as he entered the large room, his trembling stopped and his nervousness subsided. Famous works of art adorned the walls, and the ceiling was covered with frescoes he thought he’d only ever see in textbooks. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the marble floor, his eyes glued overhead. During his time in graduate school, Aldo visited the four Raphael rooms in the Vatican Museum multiple times, but these rivaled their splendor.

      “Beautiful, aren’t they?” Cardinal Bastianelli commented, as if reading his mind.

      “Yes.” Aldo longed to study them in detail, but reluctantly dragged his gaze away and looked around. Several seating areas, with plush armchairs surrounding low tables, were spaced about the room and numerous bookshelves lined the walls. He suspected they held some of the rarest books in the world and itched to peruse them.

      Finally, his eyes came to rest on Pope Benedict XVI. The elderly man stood patiently beside a massive desk, a vaguely amused expression on his face.

      “Signore Lombardi,” he said, in thickly accented English. “I have heard so much about you. I enjoyed reading your thesis on the division of Christianity. You have some very insightful theories.”

      Aldo froze as panic engulfed him. What? The pope read my thesis?

      If his thesis had nearly resulted in his dismissal from the university, he could only imagine how upsetting it had been for the pope. Ashamed, Aldo immediately lowered his gaze. He felt so strongly about his research that he continued to pursue it, ignoring the advice of his professors. But he never meant to offend anyone.

      Despite Cardinal Bastianelli’s reassurance, Aldo could think of no other reason for his summons to the Apostolic Palace than his impending excommunication. He commanded his legs forward again and knelt before Pope Benedict.

      “Your Holiness.”

      From the corner of his eye, Aldo noticed that Cardinal Bastianelli remained by the door as though quietly judging him. The pope extended his right hand. Aldo clasped it gently then bent his head to kiss the large gold ring on the pope’s finger. The Ring of the Fisherman signified the pope as Saint Peter’s successor and had served as a signet for sealing papal documents until the mid-1800s. Another set of artifacts he would love to study under different circumstances.

      “Please, won’t you join me for an espresso?” the pope asked, gesturing him to a chair.

      What? Slowly rising to his feet, Aldo could only nod. He sat down in the plush armchair, his hands folded in his lap as he waited for a server to pour the dark brew into small white mugs. Then, just as silently as he’d appeared, the servant excused himself.

      “I imagine you’re wondering why you’ve been called here,” Benedict said.

      “Uh, yes, Your Holiness,” Aldo replied, “The, uh, guards you sent were a bit vague on the details.”

      The pope chuckled deeply. “Yes, I suppose they were, mostly because they themselves were not informed. I simply said I wanted to see you and they brought you to me.”

      Aldo picked up one of the mugs of espresso and took a sip then smiled but said nothing. As the silence dragged on, he fought the urge to fidget, the tension in the room a thousand times greater than during his graduation board interview.

      “Well, I can hazard a guess,” Aldo offered. When the pope nodded, he continued. “It has to do with my thesis.” He chanced a look at the cardinal who remained by the door.

      The pope nodded again. “Yes, Signore Lombardi. Your thesis more than interested me. It concerned me.”

      Aldo’s blood went cold as he imagined a future exiled from his faith, the primary motivation behind his chosen career. Maybe it would have been better to ignore his theories like his professors advised. He had already lost more than one friendship over his asinine ideas, and now it would cost him inclusion in the Catholic Church and his career, as well.

      His thesis explored the seven main branches of Christianity, citing their commonalities over the often-debated differences. His conclusion bordered on heresy—that all of Christianity is essentially one religion with seven arms, and one major exception.

      “Your paper was nearly rejected, was it not?” Pope Benedict asked.

      Aldo swallowed. “Uh, yes, but somehow, at the last moment, the board decided to accept it, and I was able to graduate.”

      The corners of the pope’s mouth lifted slightly. “Do you know why it was accepted?”

      Because of the Grace of God? Aldo shook his head. “I had assumed that while the board may not have agreed with my theories, they saw the merits of my research.” Aldo surmised the board recognized the value of time spent СКАЧАТЬ